Summer Evenings
by Minttown1
Summary: McGonagall and Dumbledore say goodbye at the end of Harry's fourth year.


TITLE: Summer Evenings  
  
AUTHOR: Minttown1/Amber.  
  
RATING: PG.  
  
SPOILERS: Books 1 and 4.  
  
SUMMARY: McGonagall and Dumbledore say goodbye at the end of Harry's fourth year.  
  
ARCHIVAL: Just ask.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I profit in no way.  
  
NOTES: Set after book four. Many thanks to Cathy.  
  
~*~  
  
Minerva McGonagall carefully scanned the bookshelves in her classroom, attempting to select the volumes which would be most helpful in the coming weeks. Weeks, she thought. That was all the time they would have to prepare for the upcoming war before she, at least, would have to turn her attention to preparing for the next term at the school. She was certain that classes would start in September as they always did. Good, loyal, and well-trained wizard were more important than ever before. Surely Dumbledore realized that, too.  
  
His warm voice filled the room. "Minerva." He had such a knack for arriving when she was thinking of him that she was no longer startled by his presence. She continued reading the spines of the leather-bound books, occasionally letting one levitate to the pile on her desk. After a few moments, he repeated her name, and she finally turned to face him.  
  
"Hello, Albus. I thought you had already gone."  
  
He met her level stare then smiled slightly. "Would I leave without saying goodbye to you?"  
  
No, of course not. He never did, not that it had ever mattered before. Nearly every week of the summer included one night spent together in either Hogsmeade or London. She preferred the former, its familiar people and surroundings. London meant uncomfortable blouses and the unnerving sight of Albus Dumbledore in a Muggle suit. Those intimate summer meals were separate from her life the other three seasons of the year, however, and it felt odd to think of those times while standing in her classroom. She blushed slightly, chastised herself for doing so, and turned back to her search of the shelves lining the wall. "Well, there is work to be done," she said simply.  
  
"Surely not enough to justify such a rude oversight," he said, but his voice had lost much of its light tone. "Of course, it would hardly have been entirely my fault. You've been a difficult witch to find the last few days."  
  
He had managed to startle her this time. "Well, yes," she said. He had noticed, after all, that she was avoiding him. "So much to do, what with the end of the year and all that's happened." She knew, even as she tried to explain away her behavior, that she was a terrible liar.  
  
"Yes. Of course." She could hear the frown in his voice but still did not take her eyes from the shelf, though she had long since stopped reading. He paused, seeming to consider, then said quietly, "Minerva, you are well within your rights to be upset. We've lost a student. You don't have to hide from me in case I may realize that you're hurting." When she failed to respond, he added, almost as an afterthought, "I know."  
  
She was surprised at how wrongly he had interpreted her behavior. Of course she had been saddened and angered by Cedric Diggory's death. Had those emotions been the only she was feeling, however, she would not have been worried at the prospect of being alone with her friend. She actually wanted to be with him, wanted to share her frustration with him, wanted to feel him place his hand on her shoulder as he had fourteen years ago when this had happened last. Fear kept her from discussing her grief with him, fear that she might unintentionally reveal other sentiments.  
  
This concern was new, as was her awareness of these particular feelings. Merely days before, she had been keeping watch over Barty Crouch, awaiting instructions from Dumbledore which never came. Cornelius Fudge had arrived instead, dementor in tow. She had not had the time to save Crouch but had tried, preparing to attempt the Patronus Charm. Her mind had been otherwise clear as she thought of one of her happiest memories, but she had stumbled over the incantation. Before she had been able to try for a second time to conjure a Patronus, the dementor had already swept out of the room, never once paying her heed.  
  
Many hours had passed that evening before Dumbledore felt content that they had done all that could be done until morning. She had hastily left his office and gone to her room, grateful for the opportunity to rest. Sleep had eluded her, however, as her mind insisted she examine its own choice of happiest among her memories. The common thread, she had quickly realized, was Albus Dumbledore. Although she had never put much faith in the concept of love, dismissing it as a sentimentality for some and an excuse for others, she could not help but wonder if that was what she was experiencing.  
  
She found herself returned suddenly to the present. "I need you," Dumbledore was telling her. His hand was on her right shoulder now, and her eyes were drawn to his as he spoke again. "I need your help."  
  
"You know that I'm willing to help in whatever ways you --" she said quickly, but he stopped her with a slight shake of his head.  
  
"I do know that," he assured her, sensing her uncertainty. His entire body seemed restless for a moment, and he reached out for her left hand, holding it tightly.  
  
"Are you scared?" she asked softly, breathlessly. He nodded, and she nodded in return. "Of course."  
  
They stood together, hands clasped, silent, in the empty classroom for several minutes. "I need to leave," Dumbledore said finally. His touch had left her shoulder as he spoke, but he seemed reluctant to release her hand. She, too, did not want to let go. This summer would be different, she knew. They would share no private dinners or friendly walks. She closed her suddenly burning eyes, chastising herself once more for what she viewed as her foolish behavior. "Goodbye, Minerva."  
  
Her eyes opened at his voice. She finally let go of his hand, reaching instead for his cheek and brushing her mouth against his for just a moment. "Take care, Albus," she whispered. She turned away, staring blankly at her books until she heard his footsteps disappearing down the hall. Her head rested against the shelf as she said, to no one, "Goodbye." 


End file.
